


Secret Santa: How Solas was Forced to be Social

by morrezela



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Crack, Gen, Gift Giving, Implied Relationships, Secret Santa, bad language, hangovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 22:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13133607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morrezela/pseuds/morrezela
Summary: Solas gets roped into a secret gift giving celebration by Varric.





	Secret Santa: How Solas was Forced to be Social

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thecopperkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecopperkid/gifts).



Solas wasn’t sure why his heart was pounding against his chest. 

Actually, he was completely aware of why that was. He was just in such a habit of concealing the truth from others that he was concealing it from himself. There was something about gift giving, no matter how benign, that formed bonds with other people. He even suspected that was the entire purpose of the silly gift exchange he had been roped into.

He would have said “no” to it. Of course, he would have. But the Inquisitor’s favored team members hadn’t earned their places in the Inquisition because of incompetence. The event’s organizers must have foreseen his reluctance to participate in their festive traditions. They had gone straight to emotional manipulation. 

Everyone knew that Solas had a weak spot when it came to spirits. He very much doubted that Cole had accompanied Varric on any of his other visits, mumbling something about ancient dwarven traditions that humans had warped more to his liking anyway, and slowly forcing a rather fetching looking cap in Solas’s direction. 

At first, Solas had thought the short ‘archer’ (for Solas privately considered Varric’s ‘Bianca’ to be something of a cheat when it came to letting arrows fly) had brought him a nice gift to keep his head warm. It was a lovely red color, and Solas did love a good, jaunty cap for special occasions. 

But he had been mistaken. The purpose of the hat was to pick a name out of it so that one could give a secret gift to another at a party at some future date. A refusal had been dancing on his tongue, but then Cole started rambling about, “Happiness, like starlight on snow. Dancing, singing. Bubbling up from inside like a brook or a bird that wants to burst into song.” 

And so Solas put his hand in the hat without thinking. The strips of parchment had been torn rather than cut. It almost pained him to feel the rough, uneven edges of paper so carelessly treated. But he ignored the impulse to make a snide remark about it. Knowing Varric, he’d remember the comment and bring it up at an inopportune moment such as when they were fighting a dragon. 

He refused to even look at the name on his scrap until Varric had left. It was clear the dwarf was looking for some information. That inquisitiveness puzzled Solas. What was the point of having an anonymous gift exchange yet wanting to know who had which participant? It did not seem like the gift exchange was like the anonymous ones that he experience in his previous life. 

Those affairs had been a constant cycle of one upping and not always in good ways. Tricks had abounded, and Fen’Harel had been the best at tricks. Indeed, for hundreds of years his only concern had been how he would destroy those who tried to trick him. 

Though his experience with more mortal gift giving was limited, he knew that such behavior was unlikely to earn him the trust of his compatriots. His fingers hesitated as he flipped the scrap of paper between his fingers. He wondered when it was that he began to view the Inquisitor’s closest circle as his own. He had thought himself beyond such attachments.

Irritated by his own thoughts for once, he unfurled the scrap. The Inquisitor’s name stared back at him in Varric’s script. Solas’s mind stuttered and went blank. What could he get somebody who needed only to glance at something she desired to have four craftsmen and seven politicians hastening to secure it for her? 

Perhaps he could just slap a bow on Skyhold and declare himself from giving her gifts in perpetuity. A castle was quite the impressive gift even for immortal beings pretending to be gods. Then again, he couldn’t exactly announce that Skyhold had been his. That would bring about an unfortunate line of questioning that would definitely get him on at least Leliana’s shit list. And while Solas could afford to piss of just about everyone in Skyhold, Leliana was terrifying for more than one reason. She would most certainly have Josephine cut off all of Solas’s supply requisitions. And while he could live without his paints and old books, he refused to go without those fancy soaps she smuggled in for him. 

Bald heads were susceptible to chapping and ruddiness from cold mountain air just as much as the skin of hands. And while Fen’Harel had been brought low by fate and his own hubris, he just refused to have his head looking like Blackwall’s knuckles. 

So begging off the exchange was out of the question. Which meant he was only left with the option of asking for help. Oh, what a pitiable state to be in. 

Still, he could be worse off. The Inquisitor’s penchant for making friends meant that there were plenty of people he could ask for advice. The closest to him were Varric and Commander Cullen – supposing that Varric had finished distributing his holiday ‘cheer’ scraps and returned to his normal haunts. Solas wasn’t about to as Varric for help unless he could help it, so the commander it was. 

There were worse people to ask. Cullen was a practical man. Better than that, his longest relationship seemed to be with his sense of duty. In his younger days, Solas would have laughed at Cullen’s devotion both to the Maker and his duties. Now older and wiser, he appreciated them for what they were even if they were now crutches more than causes. 

Predictably, there were soldiers all waiting for their commander’s orders when Solas arrived in Cullen’s office. The commander’s room was always a bit chilly due to the fact that he seemed obsessed with fixing every flaw in Skyhold’s defenses before fixing the roof in his bedchamber. It was easy to dismiss that reluctance as yet another sign of Cullen’s devotion to the cause, but Solas had been alive much too long to attribute it to that. 

Lyrium was not the only collar wrapped around the dear commander’s neck. Solas had noticed the way his shoulders relaxed when he entered the outdoors or even the great hall, noticed the way the corners of his eyes tightened with fear when he crossed into tight hallways or corridors. Greater men than Cullen had crumbled under the weight of the fears that so clearly sat upon his shoulders. Solas could not bring himself to find fault in his need to see the sky to qualm his terror.

“Solas, thank you for waiting,” Cullen said, jarring Solas out of his thoughts. “What can I do for you?”

Such politeness out of a man whose very being loathed the idea of apostates. Humans were so very complex, and it pained Solas to know this. 

“I need your help on a personal matter,” Solas admitted. 

“I see.” Cullen shifted his weight back and forth. His right hand made an aborted move towards the back of his neck before clamping firmly onto the pommel of his sword alongside his left. “If you, that is, I…I shall try my best to assist you.” 

Ah. Yes. How foolish of him to open in such a way. Everyone at Skyhold from the chambermaids to the Inquisitor herself knew that Cullen was allergic to personal matters. Ask him to murder an entire village worth of enemies, and he’d have himself and his entire battalion bathed in blood come the morning. Compliment him on all that murdering, and he’d stammer like a school boy. 

“It is about this gift exchange Varric has arranged,” Solas mentioned. “I have not participated in this particular ritual before and need some guidance on what would constitute an appropriate gift.” 

“Did you get me?” Cullen asked, brazenly breaking the rules of the exchange. He seemed almost… eager at the thought.

“I do not think I am supposed to tell you who my recipient is,” Solas pointed out. 

“Yes. Well, I wouldn’t worry about the gift you give, but rather who has your name,” Cullen warned. 

Solas frowned. “I don’t follow.”

“If Blackwall or Cassandra has your name, you might get something useful. If Sera gets your name, you might end up itching for a week afterwards. But, but if Leliana or Madame de Fer has your name,” Cullen took a breath before continuing almost in a whisper, “they’re sure to give some sort of fashion torture device that you’ll have to actually wear if you don’t want to offend them.”

Solas stared at him for a moment. “Do you delight in scaring small children as well? Or is this just because I’m a mage?”

“Forewarned is forearmed, my friend,” Cullen replied sagely.

Solas opened his mouth to reply, but another one of Cullen’s seemingly endless troops pushed one of his doors open. It was for the best. At best, they would only further frighten each other at the thought of being subjected to the whims of the most fashion forward members of the Inquisition. And Solas preferred to put such a thought out of his mind. He said his farewells and hurried out onto the sunlight ramparts, willing them to chase the specters of fitted tunics and pinching shoes from his mind. 

His eyes lit upon the stables. Blackwall was not his first choice for conversation. Wits did not interest him as they did The Iron Bull. But there were rumors that he regularly made presents for the children who took refuge within Skyhold’s walls. Surely a regular present giver such as himself would be able to provide ideas. 

“If you’re looking to place an order, know that I have a three week lead time at the moment, subject to being assigned to other missions,” Blackwall said when Solas began his inquiry.

“I thank you for the information, but I do not believe my recipient would have much use for a rideable wooden griffin.” 

“I’m not limited to that,” Blackwall replied, “but if you’re looking for my advice, I’d say you should stop calling your giftee a recipient. It’s awful formal for something that’s supposed to be happy.”

“Do you mean to say you’re looking forward to this event?” Solas tried not to sound scandalized.

Blackwall chuckled, beard concealing what Solas would swear was a smile. “It’s a party, Solas. Not a sentencing.” 

“I’d much rather attend one of those. At least they’re useful,” Solas snipped. 

His reply just caused Blackwall to laugh harder and mutter something about self-serious elves as Solas left. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Consulting with Cassandra ended up with a suggestion that he give the gift of weapon’s polish as that was what she was giving her giftee. Asking Cole simply ended in them discussing the inner workings of the Inquisitor’s relationships. It was insightful, but not terribly helpful when considering gift selection.

“Did I hear you talking about gifts?” Bull boomed as Solas started making his way down the stairs. Which was fine, except for the fact that Sera lived in the tavern, and that caused her head to pop out of her room. 

“Wassat?” she asked. 

Solas resisted the urge to correct her grammar like the old man he was. 

“Nothing,” he told both of them. 

“Aww, don’t be like that!” Bull said. “I have tons of great ideas that would help!”

“I’m sure that I don’t…”

“Scorpions!” Sera chimed in.

“Nah,” Bull replied. “He’d have to travel to the dessert to get them. Not enough time left.” 

“Yeah… Ooh! I know, bees!”

Solas cleared his throat, “I really don’t…”

“You always think about bees, Sera,” Bull said as he threw an arm around Solas’s shoulders and started dragging him towards one of the tables. 

“Only because they’re the best,” Sera replied, merrily following after them. 

Bull scoffed and ordered alcohol from the bartender. Solas resigned himself into nursing a drink until Bull and Sera were so absorbed into a debate that he could slip away unnoticed. 

The ale slapped down before him was of dubious quality. But appearing to drink it meant that he had a good excuse not to speak. 

“I’m getting Dorian a giant dildo!” Bull announced. 

The watery beer that had been in Solas’s mouth found its way across the wooden tabletop. Nobody seemed to notice. 

“You’re not ‘sposed to tell who you got, Dummy,” Sera chided. 

“Who said I got him?” Bull countered, waggling his eyes. 

“You’re disgusting,” Sera laughed. Solas agreed with the statement if not the sentiment behind it. 

“I do not think it would be appropriate for me to give a phallus to my recipient. Or bees. Or a phallus made of bees,” Solas pointed out, desperate enough to change the topic of the conversation that he would focus it back on himself. 

“Hmm, yeah. It would be awkward to give Commander Stick-Up-His-Arse a giant dick. Even if it’d give him something to replace the stick with,” Sera mused. 

“What makes you think I have Cullen as my recipient?” Solas asked. 

Sera snorted. “Please. Everyone knows you went to him first for advice, yeah? So we figure you went snooping for hints. But because he’s boring, you gotta come to us for ideas!”

“Flawless logic,” Solas replied. Sera didn’t seem to notice the sarcasm in his voice, but he was fairly certain Bull did. 

Bull grunted and tipped his half-empty mug in Solas’s direction. “Anyway, Solas… Maybe we could be more helpful if you told us who your giftee is.” 

“I thought the point of this exchange was to keep it secret,” Solas sighed though with less vehemence than when he first pointed that fact out earlier in the day. 

“Ugh,” Sera helpfully commented.

“What Sera means to say is that half the fun is figuring out who got who before the exchange,” Bull translated. 

Solas shook his head and stared into his tepid ale. “That makes no sense.” 

Bull shrugged and order another round. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Solas woke up with a pounding headache. He moaned into his mattress and hoped that he hadn’t started mumbling about Fen’Harel and the ancient elves. 

Oh, who was he kidding. He could’ve announced his entire scheme to the world and nobody would’ve taken him seriously – especially not the two people he had gotten drunk with. But that begged the question as to why he had chosen to get drunk with those two people, and that was a question he wasn’t going to ponder until he was significantly less groggy. 

He had just managed to pull on a fresh tunic when his door was pushed open. The Inquisitor’s face appeared wearing a coy smile. “I heard you had fun last night,” she said without prompting.

Solas repressed the urge to groan or bury his face into his hands. He was centuries older than anyone else in the whole area. He had his dignity. 

“I brought you a potion from the medical supplies,” the Inquisitor said, producing a small vial from behind her back. 

Solas chose not to point out that those supplies were supposed to be for Inquisition sanctioned missions only. She was the Inquisitor, wasn’t she? She could do what she wanted with the supplies. 

“That you, Inquisitor,” he said as he handed the empty flask back to her. 

“Sola,” she said, “how many times have I told you that I have a name?”

“Thank you, Inquisitor Lavellan?” Solas said, putting a hint of teasing into his voice.

She laughed and shook her head. “And they say you have no sense of humor.” She paused for a moment before asking, “Did Varric ask you about his party?”

For a moment, Solas wondered if she was hinting around for information. Surely if his visit to Cullen had already spread among the entirety of Skyhold, the Inquisitor had to know about it. But she had been busy with visiting dignitaries.

“He did,” Solas replied. “I am delighted to attend.”

“Excellent,” she hesitated again. “Are you going to be wearing the hat?” 

“The hat?” Solas echoed. 

“Yes, you know the one?” She made vague hand gestures that seemed not to mean anything at all. 

“No. But why do you wish to know about my headwear?” Solas asked. 

“No reason at all. Have a good day, Solas,” the Inquisitor mumbled as she left. 

“Odd,” Solas said to a now empty room. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Desperate times called for desperate measures, or so humans were fond of saying. Solas tried not to think about it too much. Mostly because it reminded him of how he had used desperate measures in desperate times, and it may have given rise to the proliferation of humans across all of Thedas. 

In any case, there were people he didn’t much care to talk to about things like gifts. People who… wore sparkling silver adornments on their clothes that were far too impractical to be worn out onto the battlefields. But wear them he did. 

“If you keep making that face, it’s going to freeze that way,” Dorian commented without looking up from his book. 

“I have a matter to discuss with you. In private,” Solas tacked on. 

“You’re not going to drag me out onto the battlements to kiss me, are you?” Dorian replied as he clapped his book shut. 

“What? Why? Who does such a thing?” Solas asked, confused. 

“Never mind,” Dorian said cheerfully as he brushed past Solas and pushed a nearby door open. 

Solas followed after him and eyed the line of doorways to his right. 

“Don’t worry, those all belong to workers who are long since out of their rooms by now,” Dorian informed him. 

There were times that Solas forgot Dorian was very perceptive in addition to being very, very vain. 

“I need advice on purchasing a present for this party of Varric’s,” Solas blurted out. He thought that asking for assistance would get easier the more he did it, but found that it wasn’t so. It merely became more uncomfortable, and only the wish to get it over with forced him to say the words he needed to say. 

“Ah. Well, you can feel free to go through my personal present supplies if you wish. Pay me back later.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Solas began. 

“Isn’t it?” Dorian stroked his mustache as his eyes lit up. “Do you mean to steal something out of Vivienne’s new shipments? Count me in!”

“What? No. Why would you think I came to you to plan a robbery?” Solas tried not to sound affronted. 

“Do you mean to say that you wouldn’t come to me if you were planning a robbery?” Dorian asked.

“That’s not the point,” Solas told him. 

“But if you were planning a robbery?” Dorian pressed. 

 

“Then I’d ask Sera,” Solas spat. “You’d alert everyone to our presence with that outfit of yours.”

Dorian looks mildly affronted. “Your loss. I look fetching in black and know a fabulous cloaking spell.”

Solas felt his headache from earlier starting to come back. “Can we get back to the point?” 

“Oh, alright. Buy flowers that are both pretty and poisonous. Covers both your romantics and the murder happy. Or the romantics who are murder happy. Or buy them a whittling knife.”

“A whittling knife?”

“Everyone wants to whittle. And in the case of Blackwall, he does.”

“I don’t want to whittle,” Solas replied. 

“Well, you’re hardly buying a present for yourself,” Dorian rebutted. 

“Do you want a whittling knife?” Solas asked, dubious in the suggestion. 

“No. But I’d regift it to The Iron Bull while you weren’t looking.”

“Does he want a whittling knife?”

“Of course, he’s trying to carve the names of the Charger in every piece of furniture in the tavern. It dulls up their actual weapons rather quickly though.” 

“I… Thank you for your time, Dorian,” Solas said as he slowly backed away.

“My pleasure,” Dorian replied with a crooked grin.

Solas maintained a steady pace as he walked back through the door he had entered through earlier only to bump into Leliana standing on the other side of the door. 

“Solas!” she said with a pleasant smile and cheerful voice. 

Doom seemed to settle into his gut at the way she spoke. 

“I heard you were asking around for present ideas, and I’d love to help. I just adore shopping,” she gushed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Solas stumbled into the tavern hours later. The Inquisitor had taken both Sera and Bull out on a short mission, which was his only solace – he was not immune to the joke that humans always tried to make about his name and it’s homonym – as he dragged himself onto a bar stool. 

“I heard Dorian fucked with you,” Cullen’s voice seemed to drift in from nowhere. Solas could have sworn that he hadn’t seen the commander when he entered. As he looked about, he discovered why. 

Instead of his normal armor and fur, the commander was dressed in black cloth, up to an including a hood over his head. 

“Why are you dressed like that?” Solas asked. 

“Why did you wear a nipple hat to that dreadful ball?” Cullen countered. “Actually, no. I don’t want to know. It’s enough that you did, and that those gossips couldn’t help but stare in horror at it.” 

Solas peered ever closer at Cullen’s face. “Are you drunk?”

Cullen snorted. “Vivienne came to see me today. She asked all manner of questions about my clothing. I’m not sure if she’s fucking with me, or… or…”

A day ago, Solas might have chided him for being foolish. But has he had spent most of the day looking over clothing swatches with Leliana, he merely ordered another drink for the commander. 

“You said Dorian was fucking with me?” Solas asked. 

“Yes, came around bragging about it actually. Found it quite amusing. Whittling,” Cullen snorted into his drink as if he was amused by Dorian’s antics. 

Solas stared into his drink. “I might have known. Did he arrange for Leliana to appear as well?”

“Not that I know of. That’s just Leliana. Don’t let the backstabbing, blackmailing, murder, and crows deceive you. She’s obsessed with fashion and shopping just as she is other torture devices. She once cornered me for an hour to discuss the fact that I was not ‘dressing in a manner becoming of a leader of the Inquisition.’ She tried to insist I wear tighter pants and burn my cloak. I quite like my cloak.” 

“I see. Thank you, Commander,” Solas tipped his drink in Cullen’s direction.

“What for?”

“For being more unreasonably intimidated by Leliana than I am,” Solas replied.

“Don’t tell her,” Cullen warned, a ghost of a smile pulling his lips. “She’ll try to bring it into the war room to get me to agree with her in meetings.”

“Oh,” Solas said, a more devious smile curling into his mouth than the one Cullen was wearing, “I’m sure that Josephine would discover a way to employ the same tactics and give you the opportunity to side with her as well.” 

“You’re a terrible person, Solas,” Cullen informed him. 

Solas’s smile gentled as his mind thought back to another time. “I have been told that before.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A knock awoke Solas the next morning. The fact that there was any noise at all let him know that it was not the Inquisitor coming to visit him. 

“One moment,” he called out as he scrambled into a presentable appearance.

When Josephine stuck her head into the room moments later, she looked amused. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” Solas lied. “I was merely meditating.”

“Of course,” Josephine agreed as if she actually believed him. “I have come to offer my assistance in ordering a gift for the Inquisitor. 

“How did you…”

“How did I know? Please, it is part of my official duties to know these things. Trust me that your secret is safe with me. However, I did have to distract Madame de Fer from providing her assistance to you. So I would suggest, politely of course, that you allow me to assist you.”

Solas blinked, and Josephine seemed to take that as acceptance of her offer. “We are limited as to the time it will take should you wish to bring in supplies for a gift. But I think that we can still find something suitable. Now, I am assuming you do not wish to give an extravagant gift given your more minimalist tastes?” she phrased her question such that he was not sure if it was a statement or not.   
Solas wasn’t sure if anyone could give a gift more extravagant than that of an entire castle, but he let Josephine keep her assumption and merely nodded a confirmation. 

“Jewelry and clothing are perhaps to intimate?” Josephine definitely was digging for information with that one. 

Despite spending ages sleeping, Solas knew a political gambit when he saw one. Especially one so unrefined. Surely Josephine could do better than that. He elected to give her a flat, somewhat vacant look. 

“No, of course not,” she smiled as if Solas had actually answered both her actual question and the one she had posed. “How about something practical? I know of several good weapon polishes?”

“No. That is what Cassandra is giving her recipient.”

“Really? Oh, that is too bad,” Josephine said. 

The “Why?” was almost on Solas’s lips before he remembered that indulging in gossip with Josephine was bound to end badly. 

“I know! Food items. Sure to be treasured and used! The Inquisitor must tire of travelling rations,” Josephine smiled as if she had just discovered how to close a fade rift. Solas almost felt bad about ruining her cheerful mood. Almost. 

“What food could I provide that she could not order into the kitchens herself?” he asked.

Instead of her smile dimming, Josephine rolled her eyes. “It isn’t about giving something she cannot think of herself. It is about doing something that shows you thought about her. Now, I know of several of her favorite items, but we should focus on something indulgent. Oh! I know… No. That won’t work.”

“What won’t work?” Solas could not keep himself from asking. 

“Well, the Inquisitor was fond of a certain cake they served at the Winter Palace. The cooks were, naturally, reluctant to reveal the recipe.”

“So they gave it to you, but it didn’t taste the same?” Solas surmised. That was nothing new to the world. Mythal had been the same way about her honeyed fig recipe. He never did manage to weasel the whole thing out of her. 

“No,” Josephine said, “that is the end of it. They didn’t give us the recipe at all.” She looked quite put out about it. “We will have to find something else.”

“Actually, Josephine, you’ve given me an idea,” Solas said. “Thank you for your help.”

“Are you quite certain?” she asked. She showed no confusion on her face about his sudden dismissal of her services, but then she was much too good at her job to show such a thing anyway. 

“I am. Thank you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Cullen grumbled. Even after hours in the saddle, his posture was perfect.

“Oh, stop whining,” Dorian called out from where he rode behind them. He was slouched like he hadn’t a care in the world.

“Stopper talking, m’ tryina sleep,” Sera mumbled from where she was sprawled on top of her horse. How it hadn’t bolted off into the great unknown without its rider guiding it, Solas didn’t know. 

“Was that elvish? Solas, could you translate for us?” Dorian asked, voice chipper for all he looked like he wanted to slump out of his saddle and melt into the ground. 

“Smart ass,” Sera said loudly and clearly. 

“Ah, ah, Sera. It’s not my ass you need to be concerned with,” Dorian pointed out. 

“I hate all of you,” Cullen muttered. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” he hissed at Dorian. “And I can’t believe you made him talk me into this,” he snarled at Solas.

“What about me?” Sera asked. “What can’t you believe I did?”

“I can believe that you’d do anything, Sera,” Cullen grumbled. 

“Aww. Thanks Captain Shiney Boots!” Sera cheered. 

Cullen grunted and turned his attention back to the road. 

“If it is any consolation, if I could think of a way that didn’t involve all this subterfuge, I would have taken it,” Solas consoled him. 

Cullen took a deep breath an exhaled. “No. It is an insult to what we did for them, for all of them. I will not stand for them to slight the Inquisition in such a manner.” 

Sera let loose a laugh that sounded something between a pack of wolves howling and a flock of birds cackling. “That’s why you’re doing this? Spiteful vengeance and pride?”

Cullen shifted in his saddle. “Ah, well, when you put it that way…”

“Aw. You’re just like us after all. Good on you, Captain Fancy Pants.”

Cullen sighed as if he wanted to tell her to stop calling him her ridiculous names but knew it was futile. Likely because it was actually futile. Even Solas had heard the rumors about Sera’s prank war on Cullen, and few people wanted to set foot in his “Creepy Wolf Cave Thingy” as Sera had dubbed it. 

“I, for one, think this is a grand adventure,” Dorian cheered. “Thank you for inviting me, Solas.”

“I only invited you because I knew you would do it,” Solas reminded him. 

Dorian shrugged. “It takes a strong man to admit when he’s wrong.”

“I didn’t admit I was wrong,” Solas sighed. 

“Ah, but you invited me along to your burglary attempt!”

 

“Can we not call it burglary?” Cullen asked. 

“Captain Jackboots is right,” Sera chimed in. “This is, like, petty theft at best, yeah?”

“Maker preserve me,” Cullen mumbled. Solas tried not to echo the sentiment if not the belief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Move faster,” Sera hissed.

“Do you want me to burn your fingers off as you pick the lock?” Dorian hissed back. “These sorts of spells aren’t exactly easy.”

Solas sighed. Playing lookout on his own caper was both boring and nerve-racking. Gaining entry into the house where the recipe was kept was easy enough. It turned out that the Winter Palace had hired in an additional baker for the event. Given how enamored the palace sycophants had been of their dear commander, they’d been more than happy to invite him and his “servants” in for a rest from their long journey. 

The hard part was actually getting the recipe. What sort of person kept their recipes in a safe? Solas had never known anyone so paranoid. Even Mythal hadn’t guarded hers so jealously. Then again, Mythal had been an immortal elf with the power of a god. That sort of thing had to be its own theft deterrent. 

Luckily for them, Cullen’s habit of awkward silence and stuttering when being complimented was buying them plenty of time. It was painful to watch, and not just because Solas had to perch awkwardly on a ledge so that he could keep track of Cullen’s distraction efforts as well as Sera and Dorian’s thieving efforts. Solas could not remember a time when he was as nervous as Cullen. Not even when he was putting up the veil. 

As Cullen began rubbing the back of his neck for the fifth time, Solas rolled his eyes in judgment. Then all judgmental thoughts flew quickly out of his mind as the ledge cracked under his weight and sent him tumbling to the ground below. 

He woke up with his face pressed against the side of a horse’s flank. His head was throbbing. He really needed to stop being around the Inquisitor’s chosen few because it seemed it always ended in a headache for him. 

“Hey, you’re awake,” Sera commented from where she seemed to be draped across her own horse – again. It was odd looking at her. 

“The mission was successful, if you’re wondering,” Cullen chimed in. “Though Sera stole more than she was supposed to.”

“Is that judgment I hear? From the man who just lied to those dear people about how their decorative ledge injured his dear elven servant?” Dorian asked gleefully. 

“I had to say something,” Cullen said defensively. 

“You lied like a pro. Put a bit of danger in front of you, and you’d sell your own mother down the river in the blink of an eye!” Dorian crowed. 

Cullen grunted in response, and it made Dorian laugh all the harder. Solas was resigned that it was going to be a long ride back to Skyhold.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lying to the Inquisitor about the purpose of their trip fell onto Cullen’s shoulders as he was the one who officially ordered the “mission.” Solas might have felt sorry for him, but he was busy trying to decipher a recipe that he was certain was not written in any known language – and he knew several dead ones nobody else in the current world had ever heard. 

It took four failed batches, and one that Sera purposefully messed up just to screw with him before he got anything remotely close to resembling the Inquisitor’s desired treats. Solas was certain he had flour stuck in every fiber of every tunic he owned. 

But when the day for Varric’s party finally arrived, he had a place of confections that he was reasonably proud of. Varric started off by giving Blackwall a giant bottle of something that was either alcohol or turpentine… maybe both. Cassandra gave Varric weapon polish, then made the worst face when he hugged her for it. 

Solas wasn’t sure what Cole slipped into Cassandra’s hand, but it made her cry, so nobody seemed to want to ask. Sera gave Cole a feather she’d found that he thought was pretty. Dorian gave Sera a box of something that included glue and glitter. Solas only hoped that box’s contents didn’t end up with him in the future. 

It turned out that The Iron Bull didn’t have Dorian after all, because Vivienne presented him with some atrocious looking velvet cape that he seemed thrilled with. Cullen looked immensely relieved. 

Josephine gave Vivienne a brooch that looked hideously expensive. Cullen, it turned out, had gotten a set of fancy writing quills to give Josephine. His relief turned into something like smugness from having procured them without anyone’s help. A look that was wiped off his face when Leliana cleared her throat and gave Cullen his present. 

Solas couldn’t hold back his laugh as the giant box did turn out to hold a finely tailored suit along with a new pair of boots that was likely meant to soften the blow. His laugh did cause people to look at him, people including Cullen who glared like he wished Solas still had hair that he could rip off his head. 

Then Blackwall pulled out a hand carved perching stand for Leliana’s crows. Which meant only one thing. Solas had somehow ended up with the Inquisitor’s gift, but the Inquisitor had ended up with his as well. 

“I couldn’t find any ancient tomes,” she said as she pushed his gift into his hands. He opened it gently to reveal a set of paints. 

“I thought you might need some more when you start to expand your murals,” she explained. 

Solas, as always, felt a pang of guilt at the thought that she assumed he would be around for longer than he would be, but he pushed it aside. “For you,” he said, handing her the plate.

It was only draped with a towel to cover the treats, but she didn’t seem to care. Her first look upon seeing them, was a look of delight. Then one of suspicion. “I knew you lied to me, Cullen!”

“Maker preserve me,” Cullen muttered to the ceiling, fingers clenched in his new tunic, “have I not suffered enough?” 

“To be fair,” Solas said, taking pity on Cullen, “it was Dorian’s idea to involve him.”

“Traitor!” Dorian crowed. The word shocked Solas for a moment, but he recovered quickly. The good nature in Dorian’s tone overshadowed the meaning of the word. 

For a moment, Solas felt a warmth of companionship he hadn’t felt in years and let himself fall ever so slightly in the bickering that erupted among his companions in crime.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Solas and the Inquisitor got each other’s names because Varric forgot to invite Solas until the last minute. The only name in the hat was the Inquisitor’s. Not that I’ve done that to two late invitees to a Secret Santa party before or anything. 
> 
> A/N2: I might have picked on Cullen a bit on this. Cullen is my DAI BAE though. Don’t think I don’t love him. Because I love him.


End file.
